


well in hand

by TomBowline



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: (for dundy), Casual Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Thomas Blanky, dundy is either gnc or nb it's really open to interpretation, like TRULY. no plot here!!!, verbal feminization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: Henry looked between the pipe-stem and the curve of the Ice Master’s mouth, considered; wanted. He could go for a smoke just at the moment, he decided.Blanky and Dundy hook up. That's it, really. Dubiously filling day 4 of Trans Terror Week, "Troubling the Line".
Relationships: Thomas Blanky/Lt Henry T. D. Le Vesconte
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33
Collections: Trans Terror Week





	well in hand

**Author's Note:**

> let’s pretend this is like, alternate universe: no transphobia or something bc i simply did not want to fuck with writing mid-hookup disclosure in the 1800s! i’m just here for the cocksucking with this one.

Henry was weary of the party. 

It had seemed a grand idea - and for a time it had been quite enjoyable, a chance for them all to stretch their legs after being confined to a stationary ship for months on end. In the tatty old gown he had wrestled from the costume-box with its single sewn-in petticoat, he felt daringly... _something;_ able to bestow smiles and winks and delicate bends of the wrist to his fellow officers, to have his hand kissed and his feet swept off the icy ground, without overmuch scrutiny. But now his feet were sore from one too many dances with one measure too much zeal, his hands and nose and ears were chilly despite the close press of people in the tent, and the drink had gone to his head and made him just a bit desolate. Out in the landscape like this - with only a canvas tent and some trappings of civilization between themselves and the endless frozen plain - it was all too easy to remember how terribly far from home they were, and in how treacherous a place. He knew he ought to stay and stand about making merry, to set an example for the crew, but at the moment he should like nothing better than to return to Erebus and sit down, lay down, think of nothing. Perhaps with someone lying beside to ensure his mind was diverted.

Through the hazy glow of double grog rations and off-key singing, across the grand tent Sir John had set up for some good clean New Year’s fun, Henry’s eyes fell on Mr Blanky. He was stood near the south entrance with his pipe, lifting the tent-flap from time to time and pursing his lips to blow the bitter smoke into the dull purple light of almost-dawn. Henry looked between the pipe-stem and the curve of the Ice Master’s mouth, considered; wanted. He could go for a smoke just at the moment, he decided.

He made his way over to where Blanky stood sentry, sidling up alongside to peer out at the noonday night sky. “Spare a puff, Mr Blanky?” He smiled as he said it, just faintly, addressing the question to the ice beyond them.

Blanky handed over the pipe; Henry looked over to take it, and saw that he was being regarded with an appraising eye. At this moment he realized that Blanky did not wear a costume, and began to feel rather ridiculous, with the tobacco-colored velvet dress clinging to the unremarkable and somewhat rumpled planes of his own body. Still, he smiled wider and plucked the proffered pipe from Blanky’s fingers - so sturdy and broad next to his own, which were by no means small - sticking it into his mouth with savor. The smoke he pulled into his lungs was almost secondary; the warm stem of the pipe, fitting so finely between his lips, was what held his interest. That, and the man who had lent it to him.

“I believe,” said Henry after a time, pulling the pipe from his mouth in a drawn-out motion, “I may retire early.” He slid his eyes to Blanky, hoping he would catch on. The moment between the offer and the reply was thick as the pudding they had had at Christmas, sweet and dark and clinging to his tongue. 

“I’ll walk with thee,” Blanky said at last. “If tha’s seen one polar carnival tha’s seen ’em all.” His smile was sidewise, tucked into his cheek, with just a glint of teeth. Henry smiled back.

Henry had always been simply a man - not fat nor thin, not short but not particularly tall. He had certainly never felt himself dainty by any measure. Yet he felt so now, as Blanky’s big hands lifted him by the waist up onto the bunk in his berth with a grip firm and kindly; like a little slip of a thing, something that should be handled with care, something that could be bent into shape appealingly with a well-aimed lack of it. He gasped out a shocked little breath as the man’s hands dropped from his waist to cinch the faded velvet skirt up past his navel, one hand under his arse to lift him with no effort at all. He could, he believed, get quite used to being treated so. 

Blanky barked out a laugh upon seeing the long drawers which sat shapeless about Henry’s half-roused prick. “Good lad,” he muttered, giving Henry a slap on the thigh to punctuate the point. “Less chance of freezin’ your bits off in these, anyroad.”

Henry snorted, half-embarrassed, but any notion of shame evaporated as Blanky slipped his hand up to close a rough palm over Henry’s length. “Must be chilled, though, aye?” He grinned unrepentantly at the sardonic curl of Henry’s lips that followed this line, eyes crinkling up at the corners, teeth glinting. “Let’s see if we can’t warm thee up.”

Henry welcomed three of Blanky’s thick fingers into his mouth with relish, unable to hold back a faint groan as he sucked and swirled his tongue about them until they were slick and warm. He heard a huff, watched Blanky watching him with a dull glint in his eyes. “Like summat in tha mouth, don’t thee?”

Henry nodded so vigorously that a lock of his frost-damp hair came loose and kissed coldly along his brow. Blanky gave another rusty little laugh and drew out his fingers, sent them down directly to slip into Henry’s drawers and grip his prick. Henry could not but twitch his hips upward into that firm grasp - Blanky tutted, but kept tugging on him, pulling back the hood to run his thumb feather-light over the sensitive flushing skin beneath. “Eager,” he murmured as a drop of clear fluid welled up from Henry’s tip. _Yes,_ Henry thought. _Tell me more, tell me what I am._ He screwed his eyes shut and nodded, certain his face was as red as his prick.

“Never met a lass so keen for it,” Blanky was saying now, mouth up near Henry’s ear as his fingers slipped about Henry’s bollocks, dipping back to stroke his perineum as if it were a cunt. Henry loosed a full-bodied whine in response; the ship was still nearly empty, after all. When Blanky bit a grin into the place behind his ear, he could feel the scratch of his beard like raw wool. “Dyin’ to have summat to gag on. Don’t matter nowt what it is, I s’pose.”

“No,” Henry sighed, lost to the laving pleasure of Blanky’s callused hand, “I suppose, ah— Suppose not.”

“Have to see what can be done wi’thee.” Henry thought wildly as he felt the shameless strip of Blanky’s hand over his cock that this was quite enough to be getting on with, but then Blanky’s other hand reached up to enfold his cheek - making him feel, again, so deliciously slight - and slipped two fingers back into his mouth. Henry’s groan felt hooked out and pulled from him by Blanky’s broad thrusts against his tongue. 

“Tell me, lass,” Blanky whispered to him - with a cajoling tenderness in his voice that made Henry twitch still harder - “if tha goes for a cunny as well as thee would for a cock?”

Henry nodded, changing tack on Blanky’s fingers to illustrate - gentler suction, pointed laps at the seam of index and middle. He was rewarded with a low whistle and a squeeze of his bollocks that had him choking and squirming up into the touch. “That’s a lad. Goin’ to spend, my girl?”

All Henry could do was keep nodding. “Go on,” Blanky growled, fingers driving into his mouth in a hungry rhythm, hand flying over his dripping cock. “Go on then.” With two more firm strokes, Henry was shuddering through his crisis, braced by Blanky’s strong grip. Cradled and petted like a precious thing as his prick softened and sensitized, as his skin hummed with sweat and spent energy. 

He turned his head to catch Blanky’s lips in his, for he had suddenly a powerful desire to be kissed. The shocking immediacy of orgasm flowed beautifully into the gentle play of lips against lips, tongue wrapped ‘round tongue. Blanky even kissed him like he was delicate, beautiful, petite; fingers tipping his chin forward, rubbing little circles into his neck, and an encompassing suction of lips over his own. 

Henry grasped Blanky’s hand and slid it up into his hair as he broke the kiss, sucked in little slowing breaths, stared at him evenly. Slid off the bunk to kneel on the floor.

Blanky groaned like the creak of a board, tugged Henry’s hair to press his face in close to his trouser-front. Henry gasped into the warm wool, relaxing as he inhaled the thick enfolding smell of him - sweat, musk, smoke, the slightest savor of damp fabric. Above him, Blanky used his free hand to undo his trousers and smalls, revealing a thick bush of hair from which peeked the slightest glint of flesh. “There th’are, love,” he sighed as he was freed to the air, to Henry’s eager eye. “Sup on that, then, there’s a lad.”

Henry was more than happy to oblige. He ducked his face in, aided by the firm press of Blanky’s hand at the back of his head, and gave a flat exploratory lick to the underside of his cock where it stuck out hooded and dark pink over the slit of him. He sucked at it for a moment to get well acquainted, then tipped his face upwards to slip his tongue in lower, to taste where the tang of Blanky’s arousal was matting down the fur around his soft opening. Using what he gathered there on his tongue, he came up again to Blanky’s cock and drooled the man’s own slick out over it, slurping and gulping around it as if it were a much larger mouthful. 

He loved the feel of Blanky’s softest skin against his lips, the pulsing of that same skin on his tongue. It had been months since he’d had a cock in his mouth (for dear James had been very busy in his new rank, and he himself had been too busy to seek out new connections), longer still since he’d tasted a hole of any sort - to have the two sensations mingled now was a feast for his senses. He reveled in the convenience of being able to lavish attention on a firm piece of flesh one moment, then plunge his tongue into a twitching hot channel the next. And all the while there was Blanky’s hand petting through his hair, there was Blanky’s voice growling out _good man_ s and _there, lass, there_ s. 

Though Henry was spent, he felt a comfortably banked fire of arousal still burning in his belly as he worked his mouth over Blanky’s dripping sex, sucking him in and licking him clean and then starting over again. How lovely it would be, he thought fleetingly, just to stay here. To be indulged, his mouth always occupied, and made to feel so doted on and dainty.

But all good things, of course, must come to an end, and Henry sensed the end of this particular joy was not far off. Indeed, within another minute of lapping slurping tongue and judiciously applied teeth to his soaked and twitching flesh, Blanky was grinding his hips minutely into Henry’s mouth with a long, rich groan as he started to come. Henry pressed his tongue flat and firm to Blanky’s prick, letting him fuck his face through it; felt the brush of his furred clenching thighs about his cheeks as he came down slow and shuddering. 

Blanky heaved a sigh and leant back against the bunk, eyeing Henry with a good-natured laziness as Henry swiped at his mouth and chin with a handkerchief. Blanky scratched at the beard on his face, gave a grunt, and hooked his fingers under his own chin to peel the whiskers away. “Sweat clean through,” he sighed, inspecting the false beard - it looked to be netted gauze beneath, Henry thought, woven in with rich brown hair that was of a color with those parts of Blanky’s own locks that had not yet gone to grey. “Right bonnie mouth on thee.” He grinned at Henry, eyes twinkling. 

“Oh,” Henry sighed, head still spinning a bit and lips tingling. “Quite. Thank you, for. Well. It was great fun.” It was the most fun he’d had in years, but he did not like to seem overeager - and besides, what words could possibly encompass how Blanky had made him feel?

The man stopped in the door to Henry’s berth, leant against the frame, and fixed him with another warming smile. “Anytime,” he said, seeming to know just how Henry felt without a word. “And I do mean that.”

“Well,” Henry returned, feeling the low simmer of heat return idly to his breast. “I shall be sure to take you up on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> if I got any of the Yorkshire dialect wrong please tell me. I am but an uncouth american.


End file.
